


Inspired

by LostInEntropy



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: AU, Angst, Developing Friendship, Developing Relationship, M/M, Mentions of Violence, Owari no Seraph elements, Rating Might Change, Revision in the works, Seraph of the End AU, Slow Build, Still love him though, Vampires, VictUuri, Yuri Plisetsky is a Brat, Yuri!!! on Ice x Owari no Seraph, Yuuri has Cursed gear, contracts with demons, owari no seraph au, takes a few liberties
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-20
Updated: 2017-03-11
Packaged: 2018-09-10 16:24:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 21,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8924056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LostInEntropy/pseuds/LostInEntropy
Summary: There is now a revised version of this story called "Submerged."
Owari no Seraph AU~ But does NOT follow Owari no Seraph Plot!





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This work is being posted on Fanfiction.net (~LostInEntropy) as well! Same username!
> 
> I'm REVISING because I know that this story is taking forever, and I'm sorry for that. So for the past month(?)-ish I have been creating an outline and the such, and I have basically done the beginning, but with school starting in two days it might be there on April 8th at the earliest. Sorry to those who might have actually liked my story, I just had no idea where I was going. Thank you for your given time.  
> UPDATE: I'm sorry for my absence and inability to follow the day I had stated. I had major technical difficulties and I was mia from most internet activities. Again I apologize, however, I will continue to work on this story. Thank you.
> 
> NOTE: In the beginning Yurio speaks in English, that's why instead of "BAKA" it's "MORON" like in the subtitles.  
> I would of had it with Japanese parts, but considering it didn't really fit, this is what was decided.  
> (I haven't watched the dub, but if they did that then I might change it?)
> 
> IF THIS IS SUPPOSED TO BE A CROSSOVER PLEASE EXPLAIN BECAUSE I JUST SPENT 20 MINUTES TRYING TO UNDERSTAND, THANK YOU.

**I DO NOT OWN YURI ON ICE NOR DO I OWN OWARI NO SERAPH**   
**I HAVE NO BETA**

 

* * *

 

Everyone’s pitying stares made the whole event carry more weight than Yuuri needed.

He knew he didn’t have enough mental strength to fully tame his demon, but every time he and everyone else thought he was ready, he would find himself and four others in enemy territory, with only capital orders and their demon weapons at their sides. In training and practice he was fine, he could protect his team without difficulty. But when he left the confines of the city and its protection charms, the vampires and horsemen of the apocalypse always were too strong for him.

Time after time he left with five team mates only to return with three or less.

This time was no different, only bringing back one; his longtime friend Phichit that has stood with him through each failed mission.

Phichit Chulanont was far stronger than Yuuri in terms of mental and physical capabilities. He has kept each of their teams pushing forward when Yuuri had no desire to continue, never letting his friend give up his dream.

Yuuri didn’t see how he could keep a smile when they have so many of their comrade’s deaths embedded in their memories.

 

* * *

 

A break was what Yuuri was supposed to be having. Instead, he has accepted that at 5:15 every morning he would wake up and train for ten hours with minimal resting periods.

He had told Phichit and Celestino, their mental and physical trainer, that he was quitting, but they both were quite adamant that all he needed was some time off.  
Though he knew he couldn’t see himself failing for much longer.

Yuuri sets down his black and translucent katana to rest on one of the stands, exhaling, and letting his thoughts return to him.

He can still see his teammates’ last looks of panic and despair before the lights in their eyes dulled to nothing, their lives sucked out of them in quick succession. They had squirmed in a vampire’s unrelenting arms until they lost all of their will to fight and their painful screams weakened until they were just an echo in Yuuri’s ears.

Yuuri rapidly blinks and grabs his water bottle, trying not to think more on the subject. He leaves his mind abandoned so he can keep his mentality from losing itself into self-pity and from his demon’s sneaking grasp.

The slam of the door into the practice room has Yuuri’s mind switch into defense. With practiced moves, Yuuri quickly grabs his katana to hold it easily in a block position between himself and the intruder. A grating clash buzzes in the air and vibrates down his arm.

He is expecting to find himself staring at Phichit’s over dramatic disappointed expression, but where his friend’s face should be, there is instead someone with blonde hair and fierce blue eyes that burn in irritation.

Yuuri hasn’t seen someone with such features since the annual Demon Army Tournament, taking place to see which country’s fighters are the strongest.  
He claims it safe to say the opponent is a foreigner, though he doesn’t understand why someone he’s never met before is looking at him like he’s garbage.

“Ano—“

With quick movements and a strong force, the unknown person easily strikes against Yuuri’s weak hold on his sword, swinging up and to the side only to level their blade at Yuuri’s neck.

It seems that the stranger is unsatisfied with how little effort he has used, as they let out a ‘tch’ sound and their eyes narrow. “I’ll be competing in the next Demon Army Tournament.” The boy states in heavily accented English. “We don’t need two Yuris in the same bracket. Incompetents like you should just retire already. MORON!”

The stranger drops their sword to their side and turns around, sheathing the weapon on their way out.

Yuuri is left to wonder what had just happened.


	2. Seeing a Side of You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Victor is introduced and Yuuri has more conflicting thoughts.

**I DO NOT OWN YURI!!! ON ICE, NOR DO I OWN OWARI NO SERAPH**  
**I HAVE NO BETA**  
**Thank you!**

* * *

 

It was a month after the Tournament when a letter had arrived summoning his whole team to Japan. Their collective response was that they deemed it unnecessary to meet the Emperor of another country when all that’s going to happen is another test of Victor’s skills.

  
He knew they were right, though it was cute of three of his team members to come anyway and sight-see the area. Their excuse:  
“The tickets are already paid for.”

  
No amount of their excuses could deter the notable shine that their eyes had adapted when they heard they were all invited to the city. Victor found it adorable.

Now, after a week of tedious preparation and two days of settling in, it was finally time to do what he came to Japan for.

  
With the team's trainer Yakov, and the only one that couldn’t escape the day’s events, Yuri, the three of them walk down a hallway that oversees the training students and already ranked soldiers. The other two argue in front of him, and with weak fascination, Victor watches the soldiers who are slowly becoming distracted with his presence. When many of them stop their activities to look up towards him, he waves pleasantly and smiles for good measure.

No one has to know he is actually extremely annoyed that he is going to test his strength with yet another ruler.

  
It’s sad to think that all he’s here for is to have the Emperor prove their own position. More so that it’s not the first time Yakov has repeatedly told him to lose convincingly.

 

* * *

 

It was Phichit’s idea to go into the city, said it was to “brighten up his gloom.”

  
Yuuri agreed, if only to have his friend stop looking at him with long side glances of concern when he thought Yuuri was looking elsewhere.

  
As it was proclaimed as a casual trip, he was forced to leave his uniform in his closet and instead wear his old attire from before he had been accepted as a soldier. He had decided to try and reclaim the feeling he once had before becoming a soldier, so along with his clothes he deemed it acceptable that he put on his old glasses he no longer had any need for; as the moment he made a deal with his demon, was when he could see clearly for the first time in years.

He sometimes misses the feeling of not being able to see the world around him, as chaotic as it may be, but there is no need for someone in the army that can’t see their enemies in the abandoned areas that surround the city.

Yuuri finds himself appreciating the lightness he gets from wearing something other than his uniform. Wearing normal clothes is quite relaxing in it's own way, it gives him a feeling of complete uncertainty and displacement surrounded by people in their uniforms, a strange contentment for how he’s been feeling as of late.

  
_Maybe I should wear them after every mission to forget what I’ve been living as._

  
Though, as response to his attire, Phichit had claimed it was “too plain for someone of the Japanese Imperial Demon Army.” Yuuri couldn’t see how as he was a member of a low ranking military squad, but he didn’t share those particular thoughts.

  
Standing in the lobby of the building he has been residing in for six years, he waits as Phichit gets the extra battery for his camera. He’s left to awkwardly hold the device very carefully between his hands, not wanting to risk his friend’s wrath if it’s accidentally broken.

  
He tries to keep a calm face in front of his colleagues, hoping he is looking as unapproachable and awkward as he feels.

 

His eyes trail over the other occupants of the room, seeing many people he hasn’t spoken a word to but has fought with during training. He wonders how many have heard of his most recent mission fail.

  
“Yuri,” with the sound of his name he turns his head, ready to stand at attention, but his movements cease when he recognizes Victor Nikiforov, a notable face among the others and the way he holds himself is telling of that they know as such, walking with purpose and a clear objective as his eyes see past everything in his path.  Yuuri finds his idolizing justified.

Seeing the other is like a reminder to a time when Yuuri thought he was stuck in his dreams before the catastrophe, and only when he saw the other’s performance did he know what he wanted to do. He had been a spark of hope then, and there still lingers a feeling of that first belief of freedom.

  
His short trance is briefly broken and he notices that Nikiforov is walking with that boy that had confronted him two days ago, and assuming that his gathered information was correct, the boy named Yuri is one of Russia’s up and coming competitors, “Russia’s punk” as is his apparent nickname. Off what little impression Yuuri had of the boy, he found that the title suited him.

  
While he can’t understand what they are saying, he knows that they are most likely speaking in Russian, and their unknown words somehow seem to speak louder everyone else's in Yuuri's head.  

  
He tries not to let himself stare, but after years of admiring Victor, his body doesn’t seem to grasp the concept of common sense any longer, feeling as though in a different universe, lost somewhere he doesn’t recognize and where the truth of death and enemies isn’t just outside their walls.

  
And then blue eyes shift to catch his and Yuuri feels his mind tangle in itself, with the only reminder that it’s working being his demon’s muted talking.

  
Victor turns fully to face him after a second, and it seems like it lasts a lot longer when he says, “Commemorative photo?”

  
A part of his mind connects this as like being in battle, when he sees his new teammates disobey orders and when he feels his mind become a sickening sense of despair and inner betrayal.

  
“Sure.” His idol says with an easy smile and a wave to come closer, it's noticeable how such a smile doesn’t reach his eyes if only one looks hard enough.

  
Yuuri deems this as an easier situation, as no one is running to their end and the only side effect is his dejected thoughts.

  
Wanting someone to pull him out of this altered reality, Yuuri turns around and distantly hopes that Phichit will look for him in the training hall.

  
He can hear Kiyoshi chuckling in his subconscious, taunting how he most definitely looked like an awestruck reporter. Sad part is that he knows that he has no equal footing and is only a fan. His demon always does seem to like flaunting their shared knowledge.

  
It’s times like these where he resents his chosen dream after the virus had spread.

 

* * *

 

A violent cough echoes in the closed space of the mostly empty room, as red runs at the bottom of the bathroom sink before the faucet is turned on to wash away any residue of his pain. Makkachin whines next to his foot, and he wipes away the trail of blood that he had accidentally dragged on his face, _when the fight was over and his hands were covered in blood from where he had pressed them against his gashed leg._

  
What made this whole event completely ridiculous is that he had seen the blow coming seconds before the hit, and yet he wasn’t allowed to truly defend himself.

No ruler wants a champion worthy of their title. The potential threat would have him killed in a matter days, if not hours.

  
Luckily, if he lets himself think as much, his demon is making quick work of his several wounds, grateful to the fact that he can wait out the repair of his body before making an appearance; loath if he has to show himself as a weak mess when he knows his own limits could have exceeded what he had presented.

  
When he successfully scrubs the excess blood off and the cuts are a mere memory, he turns off the running water and begins his walk out of the bathroom, hand patting his loyal companion on the head when they reach his pace. Maybe it is time figure out his future.

  
After years of being told he has reached his limit, he wonders if it truly is time for Victor Nikiforov’s end as a soldier. To begin the work as a person who no longer fights outside of his nation’s defenses, to only be remembered as a legend in past Tournaments.

In truth, he could no longer feel that spark of determination he used to feel before every expedition and battle. He is getting tired of the recent lack of response when he comes back from a close to flawless mission, and he’s losing his once broad sight of the benefits from winning.

  
It seems as though everyone’s enthusiasm has become thinner and thinner with each mission and tournament he has finished.

  
It’s not like he wants to finish his days of fighting for his country, but he just can’t find a reason to continue his career when he knows he’s only seen as an expendable game piece.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your time.  
> ~Constructive criticism is welcomed.


	3. Show Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where Victor's squad bicker and worry, and where a childhood friend is curious.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the late update, school had started up again and life is catching up to me.

**I DO NOT OWN YURI!!! ON ICE, NOR DO I OWN OWARI NO SERAPH**   
**I HAVE NO BETA!**  
**This is also being posted on FanFiction.net!**  
**Thank you!**

 

* * *

 

 

“What is this place supposed to be?” Mila prompts, toe of her boot kicking at the weathered stone fountain.

“Where they used to train, of course.”  Georgi replies, no amount of fallacy in their tone, though from how little he knows of the country, there’s no need to guess that he is making each lie with no actual prior knowledge.

“Tch,” Yuri draws the attention to him, he doesn’t look up from where he’s wiping off one of his icy blue sabres, glimmering as though made of sequins. Victor notices how Mila quickly takes up a teasing persona when she glances at the fifteen-year-old. “This is obviously just their garden.”  He, of course, is as credible as Georgi.

“Awh, did you do your homework, Yuri?  I didn’t know you were this excited for the trip.” Mila tries to catch Yuri in her outstretched arms.

He smacks the approaching appendages, backing away while he does so, “Shut up, hag, it’s obvious.”

While Victor enjoys their bickering, he lets himself instead concentrate on the building’s uniquely Japanese structure.

He’s found it somewhat tranquil to stare at something solid and unmoving after having to run around so often with little to no time for appreciating his surroundings, and the rush of adrenaline pumping his bloodstream to push onwards.

An index finger curls against his bottom lip in thought, he thinks the design was beautiful once upon a time, before the world collapsed on itself and care became sparse.

“Oh.  Victor.” Mila’s voice reaches him.  He hums as an affirmation that he is listening, blocking out the sound of Georgi and Yuri arguing.

“You never told us how your time with the Emperor went.”

He finds a small thread of admiration blister from her persistence in trying for an answer after so many previous failed attempts.

Ever since the ‘meeting’ had happened a few days ago, Victor has been avoiding such questions with practiced distractions.  Always having something to switch the subject away from him when so close to being backed into a corner, but now, with no outside force to shield his inner turmoil, he is backed into that truth he dreads with every ounce of his being, feelings amplified by his demon and spread out heavily through every inch of his body.

Just a part of his demon that proves to be a blessing and a curse at the worst and best of times.

His body doesn’t tense on instinct like it used to how many years ago, but he can’t deny that there is a dull ache of indignation that bubbles in his chest and burns in his leg where that invisible gash once was, hidden from the world with demonic abilities but never to leave his collection of memories’ he resents.

His one hand's fingers twitch towards his demon blade and the other hand falls from his lips to his shoulder.

Victor directs a practiced smile at Mila, and immediately she looks conflicted, as though being pulled two ways at once, thinking critically of which to follow.

Knowing that he made an irrevocable mistake Victor forces himself to relax, continuing his smile and then physically waves off the subject, “It’s fine.”

He knows that the lie is not merely enough to sway Mila into thinking otherwise, but he hopes that for now, and until one day when everything is less fresh, it’s enough for her to ignore it.

Mila sighs, acquiescence lining her expression, “Okay.” She looks as though it physically hurts to go with his silent demands, smiling at him sadly, before suddenly turning towards the other two who are yelling and beginning to pull out their cursed weapons.

Victor hums to himself softly in question, hiding in a practiced form of self-preservation how his body wants to sigh in mental exhaustion. He places a hand over his eyes, trying to block out the bright pinpricks of sunlight from his sleep deprived state.

“You’re lucky Makkachin, you don’t have to deal with such complications.”  He waits for a small whine to sound, but after a while there remains no indication from his companion.

Victor moves his hand into his hair in order to push his long bangs out of the way and look by his feet where Makkachin had been moments before, finding that the place they were once resting patiently is now void of their presence.

With a growing feeling of dread and panic, Victor turns in repeated circles, scanning the entire area once, twice.

There is no sign of Makkachin anywhere in sight.

“Makkachin?”

The other’s yelling quickly goes quiet.

“Victor, is something wrong?”

“Damn.” Without a second thought, Victor runs in the direction they had come, “Makkachin isn’t here!”

While he can’t see them, he can hear their shocked exclamations before he rushes into the building.

 

* * *

 

 

“A Russian Demon squad came for a meeting?” Yuuri asks as he pushes open the door in front of them, revealing one of the building’s more private practice rooms. He tries to keep his voice even, though he doubts he has succeeded in the act as he would have liked.

“Mhm,” Yuuko jumps unnecessarily over the threshold, if she had heard the strangeness in his tone, she doesn’t show it. “They’re supposed to be talking about new missions of the state, but I think that the Emperor just wants to judge the tournament’s winner for himself.”

“As is every other time.”

“Yup!” She exclaims, not saying anything afterwards for a while.  She rests a finger against her chin in thought, humming.  Yuuri hopes she won’t ask anything about his recent mood, noticing how her concerned gazes were almost as intense as Phichit’s had been since his sleeping schedule started to show on his face and in his performances.

After a while, Yuuko spins around and begins skipping backwards, staring at Yuuri with eyes shining in renewed mirth he hasn’t seen for a long while. “Sooo, why do you ask, hmmm?”

Yuuri laughs under his breath as she gives him a knowing look, one that shouldn’t be there in any normal conversation about another squad that had come to visit, as all he asked was if anything new was happening.  Though, it is a Russian squad that had arrived, and considering the tournament's winner can only be one person, he guesses that it's better for her to try and get him to say it himself then her bringing it up.

He shouldn’t be surprised as she is the one that showed him fighting, and to a narrower extent, the Russian fighter, knowing exactly what affect the initial act had had on him. “Nothing. I just was hearing rumors.”

He hasn’t shared with others his sad experience, not wanting to tread into thoughts that have worsened his sleep when the wound hasn’t yet closed to a withstand able degree.

Yuuko pouts momentarily at the response, but her countenance brightens immediately, “Oh! What did you want to show me? You know you can’t beat me in swordplay.” She stands straighter, looking very smug with her words.

He fails to tell her that he only goes easy because he’s afraid of hurting her, as over the years he’s come to find that his real mishaps are great practice for fake ones.

“You’ll see.”

 

* * *

 

 

Victor has been circling in unknown parts of the large building, calling out in repeat with no sign of success, leaving his worry an uncontained, growing mess.

He doesn’t know what he’s going to do if he can’t find them among the seemingly endless expansions of hallways.

For years, when everyone around him either slowly fell into depravity or perished, Makkachin had been the only steady presence in his uncertain life.

Victor tries to calm his swirling thoughts from becoming dark, but no form of concentration can suppress the unpleasant conclusions he’s coming to.

Living in such a stressful world of constant betrayal and despair, it’s hard to have optimistic beliefs.

He is about to turn in another direction when a loud bark echoes from down the hall, making his feet instantly halt where they stand, and soon after the subject of his concern sprints around a corner straight towards him.

“Makkachin!” Victor’s relief spikes through his being, promptly kneeling onto the old carpet underneath him and hugs the other once they collide.

“Where did you go?  You can’t do that, Makkachin! This isn’t Russia!” Victor lectures, holding his poodle in a tight but gentle embrace.  His recent thoughts come rushing back and he quickly begins looking through the natural curls, searching for any blood.  Thankfully he doesn’t find any signs of harm, and quickly he holds Makkachin’s head in his nearly shaking hands, mumbling restless concerns to his companion.

He wasn’t expecting for his poodle to begin whining, pulling away quickly, “Makkachin?”

They start to squirm in Victor’s hold until they are let go, sprinting back into the direction they had come from.

“Makkachin!” Victor yells, standing up to chase after them, wondering why the other continues to leave his side.

He follows closely through many short hallways and past many sealed doors, almost losing sight of them multiple times.  His team and him haven’t explored the entire building yet, so he has no idea what to expect.

When much of his stamina has deteriorated, Makkachin finally stares to slow their pace, coming to stop at the beginning of a hallway, one of which opens on one side to overview an area lined with a variety of weapons and practice dummies.

_Why are there so many of these types of hallways?_

Victor knows that, because of the world’s situation, rooms like these are needed to watch the soldiers’ progress, he just can’t understand why the buildings would be made like this when there was no need before the virus.

In his out of breath state, he notices there are three people, two men and a woman, who are chatting amongst themselves.

He pays them no mind as he tries to regulate his breathing.

It’s been a while since he’s ran without the help of his demon boosting his endurance.

He makes sure Makkachin isn’t too far away from him, seeing them a few feet ahead, standing on their hind legs to look over the railing at the unsuspecting soldiers and tail wagging restlessly.

Victor is about to call out to him, to have them come so that they can leave, but before he can, the woman yells out in excitement, causing his attention to quickly shift onto them on instinct.

 

* * *

 

 

“Yuuko-chan!” Phichit yells while running over to where she stands on the training mat, squeezing her in a tight hold and then picking her up to swing around.

Yuuko laughs as she hugs the other back, “Phichit-kun, good to see you.”

Yuuri smiles at their reunion, taking this time to wipe the thin layer of sweat off before their match.

“I haven’t seen you in years!” Phichit whines, his eyes suddenly go wide, and he quickly sets Yuuko down. “Ah, sorry! Sorry! Are you okay? Did I hurt you?!” His arms start flailing in panic.

“Phichit-kun it’s okay, and it’s only been a few months.” Yuuko shows no indication of pain as she giggles at his worried response, grabbing onto his arms to stop their frantic motions.

Yuuri sees Phichit relax at the revelation, smiling brightly once again.

“Ah! Yuuri,” Phichit looks over his shoulder at the man in question who is setting down the towel, only to pick up his katana by the tsuka, “are you ready?”

“Yes.”  Yuuri nods with his response.

“Hmm, ready?” Yuuko looks between them for an answer, eyes following how Phichit leaves her weak hold to go and grab one of his two demon swords.

Her eyes take a bright shine as she smiles, “You _do_ wanna swordplay!” Yuuko yells, jumping in the process.

How she can show this much excitement after training for such a long time, as basic as it was, is admirable to Yuuri, considering she hasn’t done it in the last five months before she had officially retired to take care of her kids three months ago.

Yuuri feels protectiveness warm his heart at her enthusiasm, wishing that she stays like this, always. Happy.

Gradually her expression turns a little sad, and Yuuri tilts his head a little at the sudden change.

“Yuuri, I thought you were going to fight _me_ , and here I was getting excited about it.” Though she says this, there still remains a little bounce in her posture.

“Right…” Yuuri says softly.  He doesn’t quite know how to truthfully explain his reasoning, unless he tells her how worried he truely is of accidentally causing her harm in something that seems so childish now.

He’s a little resigned of what he wants to do, but the feeling of sharing with his childhood friend overshadows that small part of him.

He glances at Yuuko; she has a wistful expression as she stares back.

“What is it?”

Yuuko avoids his eyes as she grabs one of the towels and goes towards the benches at one side of the room. “I miss your glasses.”

It takes a moment, but he soon smiles at her honesty, remembering weakly how before when they were children and he used to show her something, he would hand her his glasses.

“Though, I’d probably break them again.”  Yuuko quickly adds with a laugh that sounds a little forced.  She’s quick to enter the little routine she has after cooling down, retying her hair up in its ponytail and removing her workout shoes.

Yuuri takes this moment to finish wiping off his cursed blade, he sees Phichit doing something similar with his.

Yuuko suddenly stops the cloth’s movement on her weapon to look at him suspiciously, “You’re not going to enter possession, are you?”

The response she gets is a shake of his head in a ‘no' motion.

“You better not.” Yuuri responds to Phichit with a humored roll of his eyes.  He knows better than to let his demon have so much control over him and though they both know as much, they never fail to ask about it, as if it’s a subtle reminder for not only them but him.

“Okay,” Phichit says after a few swings of his sword.

With the knowledge that they are mutually ready, Yuuri and Phichit calmly move to the middle of the room, automatically taking places across from each other.

“Ready?” Yuuri questions once they have both settled into positon, slight apprehension lighting in his chest.

“Yes!”

Yuuri moves from his place on the mat.


	4. Familiar Moral Support

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The best of friends are those that always have your back.

**I DO NOT OWN YURI!!! ON ICE, NOR DO I OWN OWARI NO SERAPH**   
**I HAVE NO BETA!**   
**This is also being posted on FanFiction.net!**   
**Thank you!**

 

* * *

 

Victor doesn’t know why he stayed. Doesn’t know why he continues to peer around the wall’s corner and watch the three soldiers live in their own little world.

Their peaceful scene is calming in a way, a far cry from what they’re preparing to do.

He’s being a soldier for years, nothing they could be doing is going to be any different from his own experiences, but from the few words he can pick up, he finds himself locked in the persona of an observer.

The woman says something he cannot hear as he is too far, and then she goes to sit down at the side of the room.  Gradually his voice of reason comes to make an appearance, telling him this is bad and he shouldn’t be creeping on unsuspecting comrades in arms.  He moves to turn around, but stops when the two men walk to the center of the room.

Victor resigns his previous exit as they fall into position, and he leans against the wall to watch in silence and hopes that he remains unseen by the others.

Years of training and executing many intricate ways of positioning himself for his own advantage has Victor quickly pin-pointing certain moves he finds in their actions. He catches how they dodge each other expertly and the angles they use for an upper hand.  Easily, Victor falls into a small trance that he is all too familiar with, tracking their technique and the possibilities they could do before they happen.

He follows both of their feet work and the way in which they swing, how they move towards and away from each other, seeming as though to have a silent understanding of one another’s influence.  He almost doesn’t notice how his eyes continue to watch only one pair of feet instead of two, or how he begins to only follow one of the men in general _._

Fascination overcomes his element of a fellow soldier as well as the competitor within him.

He starts to burn the man’s movements into his memory for later reference; how they seem to flow into a strike, as if their body works in sync with every muscle and bone to create something else.  The choppy transitions he is accustomed to witnessing in every battle he has participated in are hardly noticed and he doesn’t find that annoying and judging voice override his senses.  There are a few weaknesses in his form that leads him into certain disadvantages and some hesitant lunges, but they are quick to retaliate their received attacks once they seem sure of themselves.

Victor compares it closely to a mesmerizing dance that his eyes refuse to separate from, where the music itself is a being sung by feelings that are pulled from his being in response to the performance. And their movements seem to create something Victor has yet to grasp. Something that he yearns to understand.

For now, Victor depicts it as something deadly that can be so outwardly beautiful that he’s suffocating in the rediscovered emotions that are beginning to develop themselves.

A curled index finger rests on his bottom lip as he wonders, and a small part of his brain takes note of specific techniques the man uses; how they use their black sword reminds him of something that his mind cannot connect with.

The fight slows to a close with a final swing that sends the other’s blade flying to the ground a few feet away from them, the one with black hair coming out victorious.  The woman screams, seeming delighted at the display and jumps up and down, soon running over to hug both of the fighters.

Victor remains silent as the man gets pulled away to follow his cheering companions.

 

* * *

 

Phichit and Yuuko haven’t seen each other since she had officially retired from field work.  Yuuri had been the only one to have seen them most recently, when she was getting the rest of her belongings from her old living space.  It had been by coincidence and was unexpected, but they used the opportunity to spend a few hours talking and exchange moments of hysterical sobbing of varying levels from both sides.  The event had been enough to subdue Yuuri’s emptiness that he had felt after her departure, but he is still over the moon to have the three of them back together after so long.

And after Yuuri had shared what he had been practicing for so long, the three of them had wound up pulling each other to dinner to celebrate their reunion.

Not wanting to disrupt their needed time of rekindling their friendship, Yuuri has taken up the act of sitting on one edge of the table while his two friends talk animatedly between themselves.  Sometimes they bring Yuuri into the conversation whenever he’s been quiet for too long, but he tries to speak the least amount as possible in order to sort his thoughts and thoroughly enjoy both their presences beside him.  At first, Yuuri had tried to keep track of their rapid conversing, but after several long minutes of not completely following their many topics and feeling confused under their enthusiasm, he had instead allowed himself to enjoy the moment silently.

Their sometimes hyper personalities are a force to be reckoned with when combined, and Yuuri is all too thankful that he has somehow come accustomed to it.

Using his chopsticks, he is about to bring a piece of food to his mouth when someone not so far from their table whispers very indiscreetly, “He’s the one who flopped his mission, right?”

The words are a calm but stinging force against his chest and mind, and the reminder makes him set his chopsticks down, suddenly feeling his appetite diminish completely.

Yuuri tries not make eye contact with his friends sitting beside him on the circular table, eyes staring tiredly at the surface of the wood and hoping that the silence that Yuuko and Phichit are now sharing with him will soon fade away like that small group that had passed by.

“Yuuri, do you want to talk about it?” Yuuko asks, concern lining her tone, and when Yuuri relents his show of shame to peer at her expression, her eyes show no different emotion then her words.

Yuuri shakes his head ‘no’, uncertain yet resolved all at once.  He doesn’t trust his voice to be anything less than his rapid thoughts so he stays silent, only letting his movements portray how he feels.

He wants to tell both of them so badly how much he hates the thoughts that roam steadily through his mind like a reckless and shameless havoc that is intent on ruining him from the inside out, but he doesn’t want to share with them how much it actually burns to have all the same memories with the only difference being the temporary comrades that ignore his warnings.

“You know you can tell me anything.”  Yuuko whispers to him, her hand reaches over the small space between them to hold his own, stopping his fist from further being scrunched up in his pant leg, “I might not do any more field work, but I’ll still always protect you.”

Her soft but determined statement settles pleasantly against his pounding head and he grounds himself using her grip over his and moves his hand to hold hers in return, speechlessly telling her of his gratitude.

Phichit’s hand is carefully placed on his shoulder closest to them, giving a gentle squeeze coming right after, “Me too, you know. I’ve got your back, on and off the field.”

Both his friend’s smiles are so reassuring and their sudden calm from their recent hyperactivity has Yuuri understand that their declarations are pure and genuine that he feels the smallest part of his anxiety die down with their presence.  It’s not anything permanent, but the temporary effect helps to briefly secure his withering state.

“Thank you.” The words barely show how much gratitude he feels for them just being there with him, but he knows that with his uneven voice and slightly shaking body that it is all he is able to express without breaking down right in the middle of the cafeteria in the army’s base.

Their hands carefully retract to their respective persons, hesitant to release him but giving the space they must know he needs.

“I can talk to Celestino about an official break before you make a final decision on what you want to do.” Phichit adds, picking up his own chopsticks in more subdued movements then previously.

“It’s okay, Phicihit-kun, I can talk to him myself,” Yuuri rushes to counter his offer, the sudden volume he distributes has his voice sounding as though it’s been locked away for so long when it’s only been a few minutes and the only thing that had restricted him had been his own throat choking him. “I would feel bad if I left for too long.  I couldn’t do that to you…” his words trail off as his eyes once again fall away in his weak and ashamed state. He thinks about the guilt he would feel if he did leave his friend and their continuously replaced team for him to be alone in for however long, and to be susceptible to however many different possible scenarios.  It’s one thing to lose team members from death, as they live in perpetual war, but it’s another to have someone leave willingly when they show no sign of physical injury.

Short breaks were acceptable in their contract for their mental capabilities to be rejuvenated, but if one were to be gone for too long it’s likely for the higher ups to get suspicious of foul play.

Phichit shoves his chopsticks in Yuuri’s direction, arm resting on the table for support of the ridiculous show of intimidation, his mood brightening considerably from what it was a moment ago, “Yuuri. Take the break.  I’m fine with helping train the new recruits or whatever they have me do if it means you can decide what you want.”  The point of his gesture and the gentleness in his eyes contrast greatly that the act is immediately erased as intimidating and instead Yuuri can see the subtle attempt to lighten his mood.  It works.

A small and fragile laugh escapes him and he doesn’t try to stop it, “Thank you, Phichit.”

Yuuri doesn’t care that he drops his usual honorific as Phichit nods in triumph at the response.

Gradually, the trio fall back into their pleasant little bubble, shielded away from their world with their own wills to protect each other.

 

* * *

 

There’s a bitter clang of metal against metal, sword against sword, and the squeak of material tightening before a piercing whistle is blown to signal the end of their short session.

It takes a little longer for the sound to reach Yuuri’s ears past the pounding adrenaline rushing the blood to his head, and even longer for the black tint in his vision to thoroughly fade.  He takes in a finishing breath and lowers his sword to touch weakly against the ground, barely noticing the other people leaving the room.

“Yuuri, your swings are sloppy,” Celestino points out from his place on the bench against the wall.

He doesn’t give a verbal response, only a weak nod of his head and begins to go into certain positions, letting his ingrained instincts direct his movements.

He’s about to swing his sword at a nonexistent enemy when he suddenly is on an abandoned city street. Collapsed buildings and wrecked cars are covered with shattered windows, surrounding him, and his ears are filled with many unforgettable screams of his comrades.  A reminder when the mission fell out of his control and he knows he never had it in the first place.

“Yuuri, strengthen your right arm.” Celestino tells him, and only now can Yuuri tell that his arm is shaking slightly.  He sighs before fixing his mistake.

He takes a deep breath, preparing to strike once more, only for the same scene to bleed into his vision and taint his heart with memorized adrenaline.  He lets his sword swing heavily to his side in his weak grip, and his other hand runs over his tired eyes, trying to wipe out the images physically, but all he gets are bleached out spots to accompany his troubles.

_Kiyoshi, stop it._

**_It’s all you this time._ **

The cheerful response in his mind has the hand over his eyes curl angrily, as though willing to rip out the vision along with his demon. _If only it were possible._

“Yuuri, you can’t give up yet,” Celestino’s words ring behind him and he goes to set his sword on the stand. He tries not to let the meaning stick, because in a world like this people can’t change themselves so easily without having bad retaliations. And giving up his career would be too big of a change for other’s not to judge him by.

He hasn’t even decided if that is what he wants to do and already his coach is telling him not to do it.  If others are already guessing his choice, then he wonders if they would think any less of him if he did do what they are presuming.

Yuuri picks up an old polished stick to take his sword’s place. “Have you figured out what you want to do?”

If he were to leave would they find it a terrible act and look at him in betrayal?  Or would they think with a sigh ‘I know it’ and give him more pity then they already did?  He could give up and they would act as though they knew all along that he was a weakling, always waiting until his own faults crumble down on top of him.

He takes place on a mat in front of a worn out training dummy.

His body goes into autopilot, letting himself slip away from the feel of his demon blade tempting him with its power under his fingertips, and tries to distance himself from his coach’s attempts at convincing.

Quick flashes of the scene start to materialize in his vision.

Yuuri tries to play off his gradually strengthening hits as a way to expel all the anger he feels for other’s assuming things about him.  Tries to tell himself that it’s something that he can’t help and it’s not him that’s the problem.  That he didn’t kill anyone from being incapable.

His focus slowly leaves him, and it’s as though his body empties itself from all responsibilities and the requests from others are just a buzzing at the back of his head.  Just him and the dummy in an empty room.

He almost doesn’t realize the silence that has surrounded him until Celestino’s sudden question throws his mentality to recoil into itself.

“How is your demon doing, Yuuri?”

The words take a moment to process, but when they do his hits slow and decrease in strength.  The answer is brief, but he knows he doesn’t want to share, so he forces himself to continue his movements as they were.

He can hear Celestino’s heavy sigh, long and drawn out as it is, before he speaks again, “I’ll sign an official temporary release form.”

Yuuri halts finally, and for the first time since he walked into the room, he looks at his coach, questioning and relief spreading through him like ink on paper.  Like signing the release is already within reach and waiting.

Yuuri remembers from his training that a soldier only gets a few instances where they are allowed to take a temporary leave for more than a week, because they don’t want the soldier to fall victim to their demon’s control they find it mandatory to give people the option, if it can be solved with such a trivial thing, but any more than a hand full of times and it becomes suspicious.  Yuuri never had been out of his duties more than the five-day maximum, so he’s never had to use one of the forms, always thinking he could pick himself up after a much needed cry and a cool down.  It seems as though his perseverance is finally in his favor.

Of course he’ll still feel bad about leaving Phichit to the wolves of chance, but maybe after a much needed break he’ll have an idea and his decision won’t be as unsure as he is now.

“Clear you head.  Maybe visit your family, and then make a final decision on what you want to do, okay?” Celestino tells him, a small smile on his face that almost masks the truth of how much this probably will hurt him.

Such a request must require a certain amount of paper work, and Yuuri isn’t so sure of how he feels about the burden he is accidentally causing them.  He opens his mouth to speak against the prospect, but something must have been read from his expression as Celestino quickly holds up a hand. “I’ll deal with the higher ups.”

Yuuri relaxes a little from his uncertain posture, and although his mind tries to tell him how much this is affecting everyone else, the noticeable feeling of a weight that been looming over him for a long time gradually gives way and he can’t find it within himself to fight anymore.  “Thank you, Celestino.”

He doesn’t know how he will ever repay Phichit and Celestino for their thoughtfulness, but he reasons that the best he can do is to figure out his decision as soon as he can.

 

* * *

 

A long training session had occurred, riddled with Yuri’s stubborn insistence that he didn’t need practice, and Georgi repeatedly reminding them of his love life.  Somehow they had all finished their routine cool downs and had left for their shared living space, adamant on getting there before being too badly scolded by their coach.

The walk to where they were staying was scattered with idle conversations and playful teasing, though more held back and deliberate than usual.  No one had been willing to cross the invisible boundary that has been drawn since a few days ago, a silent agreement that it would soon die away naturally, just like every other time.

Somewhere along the way, Mila had jumped onto Victor’s back while Georgi and Yuri tried to best the other with their imaginary knowledge about the city, opinions clashing like blades.

The argument only stopped when Mila held Yuri’s shoe up and away from his out-stretched arm and incessant threats, though Yakov’s bellowing voice cuts their playing short.

“What did I tell you four?! Two hours is all you had, and now we’re late!” Yakov starts walking in front of the group, directed to the building they were already travelling towards.

 _Is it a meeting?_   Victor can’t remember clearly, but from Yakov’s fuming he knows the occasion is important in some way or another.

Victor tries to readjust Mila’s weight on his back, ignoring his coaches needless complaining.

He doesn’t want to sit through a dinner, if that’s what it is considering the late time of day, only to stay obedient like he is a personal puppet to all their whims and an audience to their show of power that many just love to flaunt every chance they get.  And the only way that he ever survives is imagining throwing his food on their arrogant face and ruining their uniform that shows just how high in rank they are, but he never demonstrates his defiance of course.  Waste of good food.

He comes to when Yakov suddenly goes quiet and looks angry, harshly glaring ahead of them and tapping his fingers on his crossed arms.  It peaks Victor’s interest somewhat, as it seems the same for the others when they all wait with bated breath for his upcoming words.

“We’re leaving in a week.”  Yakov states gruffly, visible eyebrow twitching.  Victor recognizes the unspoken words, ‘for another ruler to test their position.’ The concept of the older man’s irritation is clearly understood, and because everyone had already agreed to come to Japan, the team would be going with.  The must be feeling the same way then.

Victor feels familiar reluctance wind itself around his neck, but he already knows there’s no way to escape the consequences for something he decided for himself at that first Tournament all those years ago.

He tries not to hear where they are going next. It’s better for him to be at least surprised for another annoying situation.


	5. Left and Leaving

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Perspective of the beginning of an end, and leaving one place for a next.

**I DO NOT OWN YURI!!! ON ICE, NOR DO I OWN OWARI NO SERAPH**   
**I HAVE NO BETA!**   
**This is also being posted on FanFiction.net!**   
**Thank you!**

 

* * *

 

There’s a feeling of completion that grows in his chest when he sees his childhood home come into view. A clear image of serenity and chaos; from the rundown buildings that encase the onsen in their permanent shadow of misfortune, to the flourishing nature and care that the area still holds remnants of.  Some things are still left in their state of past panic from years ago, and it almost seems as though everything is hiding behind abstract deliberateness, shielded with obstructed hope to prevent anything more from happening.

Yuuri is so lost in his head that he barely notices his feet coming to a stop in the entrance, standing under the splintered remains of the wooden arch.

How long has it been since he was last standing here? It feels like a nightmare has passed, a horrible apparition of a time he wishes never had to happen.  He knows such thoughts are useless, because he can still feel the raw emotions as if everything had only just transpired in a matter of seconds.

There’s a gust of wind, his hair just barely sweeping over his eyes, and he remembers a time of joy and freedom, small sprints that he would take with his developing legs, tripping over himself as he laughed with his sister.  Careless and ignorant of the future destined for the world.  He was happy and life seemed unstoppable, invincible with the fallacy of forever.

It’s too easy to over cast the good memories with the bad, too easy for happiness to be trampled by hysteria and turmoil.

The crash of a nearby building, and a childhood ripped from him too early with no way of understanding what had possibly been happening. Where screams and the sounds of echoing foot falls came closer and farther all at once.  When he was hidden away, out of sight before the cry of agony could have come from his mouth instead of someone else’s.  How his heart beat raced and stopped, his throat dried from his yells for help and burning from the inside out.

It was a bright day when it had happened, and all the vibrant colours were taken over, all but one. A colour splashed unforgettably over everything he could possibly grasp, lingering through the hours and weeks, months, never leaving where it was spilled, always sitting in the back of everyone’s mind and in the suffering silence.

It was shocking how quiet the whole town could become after that chaos had settled somewhere else.

There’s a burning on his skin, and he is almost grateful for the distraction that had travelled up his neck and onto his cheek.  Pulled from his thoughts the burn subsides and slowly dissipates back under his shirt to most probably fade under his skin.  He regrets getting carried away into his past, warry of what could have happened if he lost himself into his emotions when his demon is just waiting under the surface.

It takes a moment before the only burn is the one in his chest and behind his eyes, threatening his always delicate emotions to overflow.

He shakes his head, wishing in a vain that the action would jostle Kiyoshi out of their trickery.  He forces himself to take one last shaky breath, forces the bad habit of remembering back into his subconscious where hopefully it will stay there until he is alone and lying on his bed, prepared.

He almost feels bad that he didn’t tell anyone he was coming.  Perhaps if someone were to have been at the train station waiting for his arrival, he wouldn’t be left alone with himself.

It takes more than he thought it would for his feet to finally move from their spot on the scuffed ground, and even more effort to keep facing forward to stare at the front door, determined to not lose himself again.

He’s gone through the entrance so many times, that the reach of his arm and the opening of the always unlocked inn door is automatic and strangely comforting in its simplicity.

The warmth of inside nestles into his bones, and he shivers gratefully, looking around for a sign of life nearby.  He hears a calm chatter coming from the main room, and he smiles at the familiarity.

“I’m home.”

There’s a lull in the once ongoing conversation until the distinct sound of haste in one’s footsteps comes towards him.  He pulls down his hood from the back of his head, fulling submerging into the coziness of his childhood home and waits for his heart to break.

The figure of Katsuki Hiroko comes bounding out of the main room, tray tucked against her chest and a blurry bright smile that radiates from every aspect of her being, “Yuuri!” the voice sounds so distant from where she appears to be, stopping just on top of the small raise in the floor and beaming towards him, “Welcome home.”

Though she doesn’t hug him, as they are in the entrance of their public inn, she instead gives him a tilt of her head affectionately while she looks at him, an action so missed since all those years ago.

Yuuri tries to fight the burning that resettles behind his eyes, and the sickeningly shiny blur that comes along with it.  His breathes are becoming shaking with the effort and he wills himself to think clearly through the haze, wills himself to remember what happened.

The forgotten voice resounds inside his head, _“How was your time with Yuuko-chan and Takeshi-kun?”_

_Kiyoshi!_

The loud thought runs through his mind like an echoing reminder when about to forget.

He hates them for this, hates that he has to be reminded so shamelessly and no doubt his demon is chuckling with glee at their games.

He grabs onto the sides of his head in vague hope that it will tighten the already taught chains around his demon’s control.

Yuuri’s body shakes as he tries to calm himself from the bitter way his mind is being played with, tries to recall everything about his life that he can. All the cold and earth shattering truths.

 _The moment_ _when he was talking with his family_ , when he was laughing about something Yuuko and Takeshi had done, and his parents smiled at him like he gave them happiness just from being with them.  How his sister had teased him and how his mom had stroked his hair like he was precious and needed to be treasured, kept safe from something he had yet to consider to be a possibility.  There was peace and merriment, a sacred moment that felt like it could have lasted forever but went along far too quickly.

There was a lull in their familiar bickering, surrounded cozily by the guests that were staying and hadn’t needed any of their assistance.  It was calm, and then it was shattered when one of regulars at their inn, Koyanagi-san, had gasped for air abruptly, like he couldn’t breathe suddenly, hand clutching his chest in pain as everyone had sprung to help him.

There is no way to describe how everything had fallen so suddenly with a clear description; chaos had run rampant through the inn, panic and fear had clutched their hearts, and heat had begun to consume them.

People had clutched at their chests, strangers and close acquaintances alike had gasped in succession, falling heavily onto the mats they had so comfortably been occupying only a few moments before.

Yuuri was scared and shaking as his mother and father had fallen before they could properly stand up. He tried to reach them, rushed over the covered dinner table to reach his mother and shook her with confused and hiccupped requests.  His hands were cold and hurt in their tight grip on her red kimono, and his body ached from his rapid shaking, but nothing could account for the stab in his heart when no answer come from his mother.  The mental wound only twisted when his sister’s attempt at waking their father held no difference.

He was fine with trying forever if there was just the littlest bit of hope, hope that they would wake up, wake up, _wake up._

“Momma, please!”

Sobs had rattled his whole frame, and his tears made his grip loosen in all the energy that was quickly being eaten away.

He didn’t notice his sister’s sudden quietness, nor did he notice anything outside the cooling skin that he had grabbed onto, held onto his mother’s hand like it would suddenly squeeze back and the other hand would stroke his head again, like he was worth being treasured.  He would be better, he would be the best son, he would, he would, he would, please just come back.

Arms had wrapped tightly around his torso in his silent promises, harshly ripped him away from the frozen hand.  He had screamed and protested, not caring about what his sister was telling him against his ear as she dragged his flailing body out of the main room.

His wails had been countered with frantic shushing until her hand had covered his mouth’s noises.  He had tried to tear it off of him in order to be released and run back to their mother and father.  He would have tried as many times as he could until they came back.

He had barely known where she was taking him, too disoriented and reluctant to believe anything that was not what he wanted.  When she had forced a door closed behind them and his sobbed screaming had become pitifully weak tears, he had then known that it was his parents’ room near the back of the inn.  His heart felt like it had finally been ripped the entire way through, had before been precariously held together when knowing that his sister was still with him, holding him and not slowly loosing warmth, but knowing that he was in the room that his parents used to rest peacefully with no worries, the room where it was the safest for showing vulnerabilities of everything that made the world dark and cruel in young Yuuri’s eyes, it was all too much.

His sobs threatened to come back full force, had pulsed violently through his very being.  He had quickly turned towards Mari’s chest, hiding his face into her shoulder and he held on to her, the last thread of a familiar feeling was so close to breaking that he wanted to never let go.

“Don’t leave me. Don’t leave me. Stay here, please. Please.”

Her hand had combed through his hair in tender affection, different than how their mother had always done it, and the knowledge felt safer to him than it should have.  If it was the same, he wouldn’t have been able to handle anymore.

“Yuuri.” Mari had whispered in his ear, hand stopping in a gentle grip and her arms held him closer to her preteen body. The abruptly serious tone forced him to look up from his place in her arms, staring up with blood shot and glassy eyes that were so void and desperate for stability.

Her next words shocked his nerves frozen, the out of place statement sending terror through every vein in his body.

“We need to hide.”

It was at that moment, when she had rushed with him into a hiding place to just fit them both, that he had begun to hear what he had been refusing himself with his selfish agony.  The sounds outside the thin walls cascading into horrific screams and cries, echoing from one’s throat out of another’s.

He could hear loud crashes, as though something was falling and something else was being crashed into, noises that he had only heard from TV and never would have thought would be so close to his reality.

Mari’s arms held him close again, as they were hidden away under their parents bed with some rolled up futons and memory boxes their mother had kept.

He huddles into Mari’s side as the sounds outside grew nearer, engrained into his mind with the weapon of fear.  She had been hushing him carefully, soothingly, even though her heart was racing against his ear and the grab on his arm was claw like.

There were rhythmic deep sounds that came from the hallway, and Yuuri knew instinctually that he needed to silence his breathing, so he quickly held his breath when the thumps were just outside the door.

There was the entrance of light coming through the grey darkness and noise had fallen into a numb memory in the back of Yuuri’s head, hushed with the blood pulsing through his skull.  Mari’s hand in his squeezed ever so tighter.

Fear was spiked into every fiber that completed him.  He had no idea who they were hiding from and why such horrible things had to happen.  All he knew was that he had to stay quiet, had to keep his pain buried deep inside where others couldn’t hear.

_“Yuuri?”_

There is a warm touch on his shoulder, warm and moving and _alive._

When Yuuri looks up to see an older version of the Mari he had last seen he knows, somewhere within him, he knows that this is real.

He is quick to latch into his sister’s arms, hugging her even though she has always been awkward of doing the action with others, but never with Yuuri.  The reciprocating arms that surround him and the reassuring voice that is spoken into his hair grounds him like no other.

“I-I’m… home.”

 

* * *

 

It took a lot more effort than he thought it would to find someone that was in the Demon Army.  Granted, he only knows their first name and how they look from a distance, which only gets him so far when there are so many people to look through while simultaneously trying to be inconspicuous.

The knowledge of his search would probably bring unnecessary attention towards himself and his team.  He couldn’t afford any scandals when he already walks on delicate ice with his talents.  There’s also the fact that creating ties with someone that lives in another country and in their line of business, would never end well for either party when the truth of death lies so close to both of them.

He continues to tell himself that he doesn’t need to find someone he won’t make any time for, but he still has the urge to find them.  Maybe to talk about their fighting, compliment their skills, ask what their inspiration is, or just acknowledge their existence and know that they at least met before their inevitable end.  Either way he didn’t quite know his answer, but he figured that when the moment came he would improvise and see where it went from there.

“Victor! Fight me!”  Yuri yells from his place on the practice mat, standing on one side with his blade pointed in Victor’s direction. 

Victor doesn’t stop the automatic half smile of his lip when he sees the display, finding the gesture oddly comforting against his ridiculous rampaging thoughts.

He takes his place across the mat leisurely, wiping off some of the sweat from his neck with a small hand towel before tossing it off somewhere to the side in favor of taking position.

“You sure you can handle me?”  His eyes dance in challenge, easily persuading the young soldier’s own stance to tense in annoyance.

The colourful Russian that spews out of Yuri’s mouth while he charges him causes a chuckle to vibrate out of Victor’s chest before he blocks the oncoming onslaught.

He focuses on his offense and defense, how Yuri moves during fighting, and quickly falls into a rhythm.

Of what little information he was able to get from passing soldiers, there had been a team where one of their members had fallen victim to their demon’s temptations after only one year of being in contract with them.  The story was brief and spoken in incredibility, and as rumors are rarely spoken with truth, it’s hard to know if what they were saying was true unless it is retold from the person responsible for the action.

He blocks a very strong strike of Yuri’s sword with practiced ease and instinctually his muscles react to direct a counterattack.

He doesn’t know about how often soldiers fall out of their sanity in Japan, but at how often the same types of situations happen in his own section of the Russian army, he can safely, albeit sadly in its own right, say that the incidents are not rare.

He has spent many times through his career listening to other’s unintentional, and most times intentional, back handed insults of others and how seemingly incompetent of their abilities they are.  Try as he has to avoid the gossip, the chatter always seems to spiral around until another more recent incident occurs and it soon takes the spotlight. It’s a never ending cycle.

There was another talk of disbelief that Victor had encountered.  Many passing people were quite adamant on retelling each other, spiteful with the information.  Their reflective reactions were quite tiring, in their countless amounts of ways they could rephrase and put the messy pieces of the disoriented puzzle together in the form of false gossip.

It was almost shocking to hear so many people speak of the same event, though with hearing it so many times the emotion quickly died away.  He had felt a little bit of pity towards the one who had to live with their words. To be the one that almost all the rumors were centered around must be hard.

It seemed to have been a failed mission, and by the sound of it, it was an important one; coming from the higher ranks and when it had been found to be in vain it was resounded relentlessly.

There are more missions to be had and yet many still are hung up over something that happened almost a week ago.  And, considering the world is the way that it has descended into, it leaves Victor mentally exhausted over people’s stubborn persistence.

Maybe everyone is riding off the high to atone for their own actions that happen outside of the walls.

Victor lunges only for there to be a brief wobble in his footwork, awkwardly landing on its side before it settles properly.  It takes only a second for him to find his balance again, quickly deflecting Yuri’s blade that was aimed precariously close to his face.

He tries to reconcile his mistake by taking a side step and preparing for an attack when he accidentally misjudges his footing once again, knocking his feet together and tripping over himself.

He’s quick to find his balance again, but Yuri uses the brief opening to his advantage, swinging his sword towards Victor’s exposed side and hitting his mark.

The momentary silence that spreads between them is palpable.  If it wasn’t for their heavy breathing from the exertion, it would have been worse.  

“What the hell was that?!”  Yuri yells.  Betrayal is painted in every feature of his expression, as if Victor had personally thrown the younger in front of one of the blood suckers in order to save his own life.

Victor knows there is no way to explain his mistake without sounding as if he has been up to something, and he doesn’t dare tell them as much, but the look Yuri is giving him really makes him question what he was doing himself.

He should have been paying attention instead of letting himself fall into his trance.

“Take this seriously, Oldman.”  Yuri almost growls at him, eyes narrowed and blade pointed accusingly. Victor can’t help but agree with his words. “You’ve been messing up for days, what’s up with you?!”

All his time trying to be inconspicuous, and he already had failed before beginning.  A small part of Victor feels annoyance towards himself from being inaccurate in his ability to hide his thoughts from the people he’s been close to for years.

Yuri’s lingering betrayal starts to dwell inside Victor.

He feels slightly proud of the fact that Yuri had even noticed days after he started and not just a few hours before.  Finally, the young boy he had encountered all those days ago in the wreckage shows his concern for others. Even as bitter as his way of expressing it is.

“Awh, Yuri.  I’m not that old.  I just have a few things on my mind.” But, even though he feels guilty in the smallest of ounces and how much his brotherly fondness goes out to the boy, he can’t fight his automatic diversion. “Come, let’s take a break for now.”

He ruffles Yuri’s blond hair, laughing good-naturedly at his protests and words that are justifiably said.

 

* * *

 

“Victor!”  Mila cries dramatically as she bolts through the door of his room, only a few doors down from the one she has made her own and yet even now she continues to act as though every room is hers.

She quickly latches onto his arm, disregarding his half-hearted attempt at taking something out of his closet and instead she slides to the floor in a whine. “Yakov is making me pack.  Distract him for me.”  Every pull of his arm is useless and he gives up after the fifth time when she almost rips his sleeve off in revolt.

“I don’t want his yelling either.”  He clicks his tongue in mild annoyance, barely masking his growing smile.  He tries to pry her death claw off and briefly wonders if Yakov will come yelling down the hall soon.  His efforts multiply ten-fold.  “Get off, Mila.”

“Victor, you’re so mean!  Yuri’s not even here for me to tease and this is how you repay me?” Her hold finally lets go, only for Mila to fling herself onto his bed in a graceless sprawl, face down making her voice muffled by his blanket, “We’re packing to leave for another country, I don’t know why we have to do it right now.”

Victor rolls his eyes, the amused smile resting pleasantly as he pulls another piece of his clothing from the closet and puts it unceremoniously in his already stuffed, old suitcase. “We should have started yesterday.”

Mila suddenly rolls onto her back at his words, “But that’s too early,” she whines louder this time, arms lifting above her head to stare unseeing at her hands, “We’re leaving tomorrow, not in an hour.”

Victor really can’t stop himself from chuckling at that, nudging her leg towards the edge of the bed, “Get up and start packing, Mila.”

One long sigh is her reply and Victor wonders If he’s going to have to repeat himself when she suddenly gets up after the sound of heavy footsteps come from the hallway.  “I won’t forget this Victor~!” She yells as she sprints out of the door, fleeing just as Yakov yells her name in boiling irritation.  Leaving just as she had come in, loud and over dramatic.

 Victor laughs a little to himself, putting an old shirt in his bag before the sound of his amusement fades off in a pitiful copy of a sad whisper.

The situation is not one he is very happy about, and he too would rather stay in one place for long months at a time instead of a few short days, or if they’re lucky, weeks, but the stark contrast of their ideals and their reality is too far separated for them to ever grasp.

Not for the first time that day, he questions if the world had never had changed all those years ago, then maybe he would respond to everything differently.

He takes a moment in his mindless stuffing of his clothes to look around the room he’s been occupying for such a short amount of time.  Nothing in the room holds many memories except standing by the closet and leaving through the doorway every day, the daily routine so engraved into his mind that he barely remembers those small acts.

Envy blossoms in his heart and mind like the frozen cherry tree painting on his wall.  Envy of the few people of the past who could live a life filled with all the normal day to day activities they didn’t pay any mind to, not having to worry about the constant stream of responsibilities that echo through every inch of the world.  Envy to the times when only few had to live these lives, and envy to those how had the choice, as questionable as the thin lines between those lives had seemed.

“Hey.”

The sharp slice of a still young boy’s voice startles him to stare towards the doorway where Yuri is standing stiffly as though he is waiting to be jumped at any moment, and with Mila that’s always a possibility.

“Don’t tell Georgi but we got mail from Russia.”  Yuri keeps his eyes threateningly facing the wall behind Victor, fists almost crumbling the envelopes in his grasp.

A fresh wave of emotions flow over Victor and he steadies himself with the new information.

Before the four members of the team had left Russia, there had been an awkwardness that circled around the squad like something once flourishing had died, hanging above all of them in silent taunting of their inability to intercept.

Two of their squad members are dating.  The act isn’t rare but it is commonly warned against, because if the people in the relationship ever break up or have a falling out it could mean disastrous consequences for, not only the squad, but the city they live in.  People are easily influenced by their demon’s tempting words during a time of personal trials, so if a person were to ever fall victim when too emotionally involved then they would lose themselves completely.

Humans have easily shatter-able hearts compared to their demon counterparts.

Of course, the only reason that dating someone within a squad is not completely forbidden is the greatly reduced population that the world has been suffering from, and the need to keep their species thriving. But the factor is so blunt and inhumane sounding that Victor would rather not remember that part.

Though, none of the factors matter as much as the heartbreak that his friend would endure once he finally let the situation become obvious and stopped trying to avoid the subject.  Victor can empathize with that act but he still feels apprehensive with leaving it alone for so long.  Which is probably the only reason he hasn’t spoken out to Georgi yet.

The others don’t want to bring it up either, and no one wants to be the one to talk about the change that Georgi and Anya had taken between themselves.

“What mail from Russia, Yuri?”  Victor smiles brightly as he extends his hand, getting a scowl at his efforts of exaggerated indiscreetness.

“Idiot.” Yuri huffs, roughly slapping the envelopes in Victor’s palm.  “Hurry up before Georgi gets back with Makkachin.” Right after he finishes, with a familiar glare to his leader, he turns to leave through the hallway.

Victor is about to go back to his bed and check the letters when he quickly runs to the doorway and sticks his head out to yell after Yuri, “Make sure when he does he shares some of those little treats I love so much!”

“Tell him yourself, old man!”


	6. Time Consumes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes the world changes, and sometimes it only has to catch up for you to notice.

**I DO NOT OWN YURI!!! ON ICE, NOR DO I OWN OWARI NO SERAPH**   
**I HAVE NO BETA!**   
**This is also being posted on FanFiction.net!**   
**Thank you!**

 

* * *

 

It had taken Yuuri a while to settle into his family’s old onsen, but it once he had gotten used to his nearly forgotten routine he had lived for years, it was as though he never left.

Life in the ruins of Hasetsu has barely changed since its fall: the “temporary” farm is still in place, and the few families that had been there since before he left had either died off, left for the city, or new ones came for an escape.  Everything is as though it’s different yet nothing really has in the broadest of senses.

But sometimes, Yuuri would naturally have a train of thought that was only relevant when he was years younger, and it would only die off when he realizes the truth a little later than he should have; he had gone to the family that once lived close by in order to check on them after a week of settling in, only to find that they had separated and the people that stayed had let themselves die off soon after.

It was painful to Yuuri to learn age old news in such abrupt ways, but the stories all had the same type of roots that he could hardly find guilt from not knowing.  They all seemed unavoidable and held no amount of surprise for him to sit in shock anymore, it only gave him a sense of emptiness that was soon over shadowed with time, as it had already been for others.  It all fell into his routine.

He did have moments of silence for the people that he had known, even those he’d only heard of, but they were so fleeting that he barely remembered the quiet. Now is too dangerous a time to fall victim to the past and its misfortunes.

A part of himself, a small itch in the back of his mind, still holds his innocent representations of the world, that makes him feel sick of his own reactions. But he can’t stop the other parts, the most recent and tormented frames of mind, that stand for his more realistic ideas that had sprouted and grown from his experiences he’s been thrown through. His internal conflict never lasts long, thankfully, as there are always things to do in order to help his sister and the other people of Hasetsu.

But there are some moments when he can’t escape his thoughts: when it’s late at night and the labor of day hasn’t weakened his mental stability to its lowest, and since his demon has only heightened his endurance, he doesn’t have to worry much for the tasks of another survivor.  It’s when he’s awake and the information he learned about Mari’s and everyone’s lives are fresh in his mind, that he feels that fraction of guilt twinge him with self-doubt.

Why is brushing off people’s deaths so easy when not present? But a nightmare when present?  It’s insensitive, he knows, and he hates that that is how he has become, but in these days one must do whatever they can to live till the next.

Then, is escaping his life as a soldier a dishonor for those that had fallen when they had chosen the path that brought them to never-ending darkness?  If leaving helps him survive, is it bad?  What if he doesn’t want to have a constant stream of new teammates, whose faces bleed into each other in his memories when they inevitably die?  And one day he’ll join them as one of the fallen.

Maybe he wants to live out the rest of his days in relative peace until that happens; though he doubts it will be very stress free, he knows that it won’t be as adrenaline inducing as being on periodic missions that could be assigned during ungodly hours of the night.

And then there’s the factor of how his decision to leave will affect how Mari will be presented to outsiders.  She might have a common look of disinterest with strangers and be very guarded that she seems to not care for others, but when faced with opinions of a large source it’s hard to accept when she would have no possible influence besides persuading him otherwise.  The outcome would be by him and he would have to carry the burden of being the one to have forced Mari into such isolation. He knows he would hate himself more for it.

It almost doesn’t help that she always supports his decisions no matter the consequences that could inevitably affect her.

Being in the army has its privileges, but taking away the position could fracture everything they had worked to keep and push them to a place where they would be lower than they already are.  Not to mention the effect it would have on Yuuko and Phichit for just being in contact with him.  Yuuri didn’t want any more trauma to be placed against them when he could keep it away, but he also didn’t want to push on without the will he had been so adamant on expressing at the beginning of his training days.

The paths lied out in front of him continue to spread every which way, and Yuuri feels as though more and more are coming about.

 

* * *

 

It had seemed like the events would never end, would continue to wring out ever last ounce of strength and devotion he had left until it was all just a part of himself that he would remember and regret, but somehow the squad had finally been given that last statement that had felt as though it cleansed Victor’s mind and he suddenly could feel his body again, “We’re going back to Russia.”

It was very final that once going back it would mean the end, so the celebratory party that the squad had amongst themselves was not as overdramatic as it might have seemed before they had decided upon the career choice, and while they had all complained about the previous events with harsh words that only they could hear, there was no denying that as many times as they declared that this was the last time, there would always be the following blow that would make itself known in time.

Still, with their harsh language and sudden fights they got into with each other when they couldn’t feel their arms, minus Yuri because he wasn’t allowed anything stronger than water, it brought on a sense of calm and peace that they greatly needed after traveling for months on end.

The minor hangover they suffered from could argue against that peace, but because of the demon’s presence the outcome came less hazardous than it could have been.  It almost surprised them that they drank enough to rival their contract, and once Yuri had learned that they were not at all unscathed, he had willed every ounce of hate and pent up aggression he had stored in his small frame to make them want their heads chopped off, and when Georgi said as much, Yuri had offered to do it for them, yelling at the top of his lungs with no show of remorse.

It had felt like a lifetime until the pain had faded and Victor could move without having his brain feel as if it was rattling in his skull, ready to burst out, but when it did they all had made sure to give Yuri what he had already been preparing for.

The flight to Russia had gone over Victor’s head as if in a daze, and when he had finally stepped down to the wreckage of his home country, life had gone on.

The following week that had followed bared no memorable relevance that his routine was hardly a chore as much as it was a distraction, and while his training became more laboring than it had been previous, it had only taken more of his mental strength to notice.

It was when Georgi had suddenly burst out in tears randomly after being uncomfortably silent for over an hour that everything finally seemed to slow down.  The day had started with a member short and when the tense silence hanging around them felt as though it was suffocating, their team finally acknowledged the secret that was never a secret in the first place.

Yakov had forced them all to take a break after they had all tried to comfort Georgi with no evidence to show for it, and when the question of who of the ex-couple was going to leave the squad came up, it was just another reason to separate sooner and have them all stay quiet about the subject.

Victor never stopped his training through his days, and he was sure the others who could hold a sword without breaking down were doing the same, but the worry he felt for his teammate was almost enough to throw his own blade across the room to pierce his wall.  He never let himself do something so damaging to his shelter though, so he was left alone to assume, and assuming was always one of his least favorite mindsets he could fall into.

People can’t live for long in this world when they don’t know besides the obvious outcome, and when all they have are false thoughts to drive their determination it’s more likely that the best outcome they could strive towards is the worst one.

How were they supposed to continue from a fractured squad? They would have to take someone out, but how were they going to decide when they have known each other for so long?  There have been so many instances where they have saved each other’s lives that it would be almost impossible to force the concept and keep a clear conscious for long.  The fear of the future was keeping them at an impasse that it was exhausting to think about it.

If one were to leave after a while it would be natural for someone else to leave, and since it is important to not have emotional defects between members, it would be the most likely outcome for them all to go into different squads.  Because when one thing disrupts something so intensely, it can be easier to have a new and drastic change instead of letting something familiar happen once again, and Victor has always loved surprising others with his decisions.

He can feel the drag of his hand on his dusty wooden table become lazier and drawn out, rather than the tight fist it had been in, and he finds the outer expression of his mind’s calm somewhat of another level of agreement to his undeveloped choice.

Victor will always love his squad like a family; the temperamental little brother that hides his affection through insults, the teasing sister that is very protective of her friends, the overly dramatic romantic brother that cares too deeply for his own good, and Anya, who Victor doesn’t have an opinion on after her recent acts. But no matter the moments that have changed them into who they are now, they still remain close to his heart, and while the thought of doing something that will leave them behind brings a sick feeling to his gut, he doesn’t feel it dissuade his thoughts.

It seems reasonable that his next move could shock everyone, as his most memorable times are just that, and he’s been craving a change from his routine.

For a while he lies on his couch, tired from his recent training and now controlled anger, that he nearly loses himself in the suddenly clearer air that surrounds him.  Makkachin is lying on his legs and he uses this moment to breath in time with them, letting the deep breathes they are taking in their sleep reflect from him, and after a while he feels himself teetering on the edge of unconsciousness.

In the dark that blinds him, he begins to see graceful glides of a sword and excellent footwork, can feel a bland copy of the first rush of seeing something so spectacular.  He clearly remembers the man jump away like it was a premeditated step in a dance, and he feels his heart skip a beat that when it continues its rhythm it’s as though it thrums throughout his whole body.

For the first time since Victor could think without the pressure of expectations pressing him down, he knows what it is he wants to do and how it is he is going to do it.


	7. Lost Finding the Lost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With everything that he's been hoping for, it's almost blinding when it finally comes to be.

**I DO NOT OWN YURI!!! ON ICE, NOR DO I OWN OWARI NO SERAPH**   
**I HAVE NO BETA!**   
**This is also being posted on FanFiction.net!**   
**Thank you!**

 

* * *

 

There’s relief that spreads through Victor, like wildfire rivaling against the freezing cold that hangs in the air around him and with the snow that surrounds his feet in unorganized splendor.  Japan isn’t as bad as Russia could be in the worst of circumstances, but it is no doubt chillier than it had been when he first arrived all those months ago.  A natural phenomenon that Victor is glad wasn’t affected with everything else that the virus brought.

Victor’s senses awaken with the cold, and he can almost believe everything he had done to get here was a dream, driven in an unconscious haze that had him floating through every moment after cutting down that first so called enemy in the most recent Tournament, only shaking out of the stupor a handful of times.

He really decided this, really executed it.  The information finally clicks and with it comes freedom lightening his chest and bringing a tingle to his fingertips.  The buzz in his mind brings a spring to his already carefree gait, only slowed down by the snow on the pavement, and with it he navigates his way through the streets towards Japan’s army base, few minor setbacks along the way.

When he reaches the front of the structure, his actions and their meanings become surreal.

Would he even be capable to do what he wants? Would his actions have a positive branching point for more to come, letting him have something that he chose instead of decided for him after all these years?

Yakov certainly let him know of the danger of his actions, yelling at him and trying to persuade him otherwise. Even when Victor had showed no indication of changing his course of direction, his coach had resorted to something akin to begging, though it was softer and masked behind weary annoyance, and for once he expressed a different side of his personality.

Yuri hadn’t liked the idea either; attacking Victor with his twin sabres and harsh words with all the annoyance and aggressive energy that his small frame held within, which Victor had carefully avoided without engaging in the conflict.  The situation had gotten out of hand when Yuri threatened to cut his arms off, only stopping when Mila had intervened, though Yuri didn’t give up his fight so easily.

Georgi was another matter entirely, not reacting outside of his heavy sobbing and sharp wheezes while he hugged his camera that no doubt had a collection of Anya and him kissing, as they had often done.  The sight was damaging to Victor’s resolve to leave, made him want to stay and comfort his friend, but he’s not one to do as such without being painfully blunt and truthful, which apparently is not how one should be in those types of emotional situations.

The only one to have any semblance of understanding for his reasoning was Mila, but that was only after she had stopped Yuri from trying to kill him, sending the teenager away in order to also attempt to talk “reason” into Victor’s “irrational” decisions.  She had still told him reasons, but they became weak after she saw his desire for freedom from his constant routine that he had not explained in so many words; implied explanations that she caught onto, spoken through the way her eyes widened in an expression of realization.  She had wished him good luck regardless of her continued worries and those were the last words he heard from his squad before he boarded the helicopter.

They were moments he would hold close to his heart; to remember his past he left behind for however long he thought was enough.

The final idea was in the spur of the moment, barely thought out which should have Victor second-guessing himself, but instead he feels at peace with his mind.  Surprises are really something he’s missed and he is all too happy to indulge them.

 

* * *

 

His ill-conceived plan proves to be useless, as days, weeks, go by and he has yet to find anything that could mean anything to him.  He’s heard a lot of stories in his stay but to him nothing really pieces together or even sounds promising to lead him forward in his search, keeping him in the same place he was when he first left Japan.

His questions aren’t as indirect as they were when he was asking around before, and yet the information he receives is as useless to him as the older rumors.

Another person walks away from retelling a tale he has already heard, taking with them time he feels he’s running out of. It’s truly frustrating how repetitive everything is becoming, like a new routine he is living, only more annoying than the last one because he had hope that something would change and it didn’t seem so far away a while ago.

With little for his mind to be distracted with, beside the continuous training and searching, it’s become hard not to listen to his demon for long periods of time, talking to them more than he used to and it’s slowly becoming as easy as swinging his sword, something he had once hoped never would happen.

“ _This is a waste of time,”_ a voice in his head whispers _, “just let me out and I can find them for you.”_ Temptation distantly buzzes, echoing into every inch of his mind.

“ _I refuse, Tusya,”_ Victor automatically replies, voice less harsh and commanding as it once might have been.  He finally finds a nearby bench for a small break in his search, which he gratefully takes advantage of.  It’s almost ridiculous how many people he’s talked to, and even more so for how many he’s listened to.  His Japanese is a little rough around the edges, but people seem to be accommodating to someone who is somewhat of a legend of their time, and he’s almost glad for his title, if it’s helping him this far, even if it’s a slow wait.  He doesn’t know what he would have done if people didn’t give him their time.

Probably return to Russia with nothing to show for his disappearance, except for weary apologizes and preparations for a young teen’s vengeance.

One good thing about the wait, he has to admit, is the view.  While it is ransacked and looks as though a tornado had passed through a long time ago, the people have made the most of the remains.  The presentation is still well kept and Victor can tell that they appreciate the remnants of their old culture, an act that in itself is admirable.

“Ano,” a voice questions from behind him, hesitant and quiet, like they’re wondering if what they’re doing is the right thing to do.

Victor turns around and he sees there’s a young man with dark grey eyes that complement his tan skin and raven black hair.  When the man fully sees Victor’s face his expression turns from contemplating to confused shock in a matter of seconds, pulling back a little as though seeing Victor is unbelievable and they need the extra space to come to terms with the fact of Victor’s presence.

If it’s the matter of Victor’s appearance, Victor briefly wonders what the other was expecting from a person with silver hair.  There can’t be many in Japan with such a hair colour, can there? He certainly hasn’t seen anyone of the sort, other than himself.

The man quickly turns to look over his shoulder and shouts something in Japanese to a young woman that looks vaguely familiar.  Victor translates his words to something similar to “thought” and “lying” accompanied with Victor’s name, turning Victor’s assumption into truth.

The other looks at him once again and it takes a second for Victor to piece together why both the woman and man look familiar, bringing about thoughts of swords clashing and a scream of excitement when the blades came to a standstill.  Suddenly the reason for his being in Japan doesn’t seem so far away and ridiculous.

In his excitement Victor misses what the other is saying to him, the language sounding like a flowing string of noises that piece together in a way that leaves Victor’s already inconsistent mind reeling.

“Gomen ne, wakarimasen.” Victor tries to communicate his confusion, tongue tripping over his own words in its wake and most likely killing any meaning it could have had.

Realization dawns the other’s countenance, “Gomen, gomen. Uh, do you speak English?” They change their language easily, apparently fluent, and Victor suddenly feels grateful that he had to learn English when he was younger in order to speak with most other people during competitions.

“Yes.” Victor replies, accent not so heavily laced around the word as it used to be when he first started learning English, but still there nonetheless.

Relief is conveyed through the way the man’s shoulders sag and how they let out a breath as if they were holding their breath in anticipation, Victor has to agree as he feels the same emotion but for a different reason.

The path to the change he was looking for seems to have found him instead.

 

* * *

 

In a town of lost souls, there are a lot of things to help them find a more balanced footing, and while Yuuri has never really been good with communicating with others and have it come out consistent and not on the border of planning his escape, he has always wanted to be useful to their chances of survival.  He’s had many small jobs, so to say: running around doing small errands, protecting the unlucky few who had run ins with a horsemen of the apocalypse, and if times called for it, he would defeat a straggler vampire that was hell bent on turning them into their livestock.

At times the actions can become tedious, especially when he has to choose between which to take care of first; how is one supposed to choose the more dangerous problem to attack if they both are likely to cause lives to be lost?  It’s troubling, and he hates being put into that position where his choice could prevent someone from dying or cause the opposite to come true, but thankfully there aren’t many of those mind tearing moments with Takeshi there to help when he can.

Takeshi might not have as high rank of a sword as his wife, only an enchanted weapon because he had refused anything too strenuous, though he could have aimed for something much higher, but he was useful in combat nonetheless, and the support only doubled Yuuri’s efforts when he is reminded that he has people to back him up when need be.

Of course, the times with Takeshi are limited, as he has three triplets to take care of while Yuuko is in the city doing a few final things that need to be done before the government can finally recognize her as retired, and while Takeshi is a huge support, Yuuri can’t deny that he hopes Yuuko finishes soon so they can talk a few things over. 

After spending so much time in Hasetsu Yuuri has had many thoughts about his career, the majority of which contradict each other and he has recognized early on that he needs an outside source that can help direct his path with an objective mind, and while Takeshi or Mari would be good in objective decisions, he hasn’t told either of them the reason for his return.  The implications of explaining and what it entails about his mental stability fractures any amount of resolve he could once have.

His katana is almost weightless in physical form, but the energy that surges into his fingertips and palms every time he so much as hovers over it demands every ounce of his control and attention, pulls his entire being to crave its power.  That kind of temptation for a human is dangerous, and he’s been living with it in his head for years.  How he has done as such has him amazed yet terrified of his own capabilities.

Could he continue to live with this in him?  To have it lingering in the back of his mind while he tries to lie to himself in the fallacy of peace and contentment, power growing with the need for its presence to be unleashed every moment of breath he steals from the world, until all he can do is collapse under the power of his contract. He can already feel the need for violence clawing through his veins, the gnawing ache in his heart pulsing for the sadistic pleasure of causing pain to others, burning him up and only spreading.  How much longer will it take until he can’t hold back what his demon desires?

Yuuri could stare into his katana for days and lose himself in its whispers that only he can hear and not notice until someone pulls him away, if they ever could. What he worries about is how long he would actually be looking at the blade and what his demon would be doing in control.

Possession is a dangerous ability of certain demon weapons, corrupting like a dial on the stove, able to turn higher or lower in intensity except there is no off setting besides deterioration into a memory of abandonment. It’s horrible and addicting, and a power that some would call an honor to possess.

To control such power one must have great stability of the body and mind, and to an extent the heart, but to wield it with the constant knowledge of death at his fingertips tears into his anxiety like it’s a present waiting to be undone. And while he hates having the ability, the only way to keep it under his weak command is to continue his training, no matter how tedious and how much resentment he sometimes feels towards his contract that’s been binding him for years.

Yuuri practices every afternoon in front of the rundown building of Hasetsu’s Ninja House, a once favored tourist attraction and a part of Hatsetsu’s pride, but now it stands as one of the last remaining connections to their history, a time monument restored and eroded with all the events of the town. 

It was fitting for Yuuri, to be nearby something old and nearly forgotten brought a faint feeling of peace to his mind, and he could practice his swordplay with barely any on lookers.  The people usually left him alone when his demon weapon was out, probably afraid and suspicious of his mind set, for being a soldier may be an honorable rank in today’s society, but that doesn’t deter the fact that they kill in order to protect what they hold dear, take lives in order to save another, and that truth causes a divide between the civilians and the warriors, whether people mean to or not.

The separation of their places in society is a dangerous thing to tamper with, and Yuuri tries to remain as partial to his roots as he can.  Though putting on casual clothes and wearing glasses that he no longer has any reason to wear may be a temporary and false way to look approachable, the moment his sword is out of its sheath his neighbors and friends treat him like a vampire in disguise.

Yuuri doesn’t dare wear that kind of deception when he trains, always keeping his soldier skills as far apart from his common persona, though it does little for the people that know him well enough, and the few strangers who treat him normally when dressed like them, are either too young to tell the difference or actually able to tell that he means them no harm if he can help it.

He’s in the middle of unleashing a small piece of his demon’s power in order to practice some more strenuous activities when his demon’s growing influence detects oncoming people.  People with a demon weapon of seemingly class one and there’s a faint hint of another weapon of weaker presence than the first.  The threat has Yuuri tense with the first race of adrenaline heating up under his ribs and traveling rapidly into his head, already preparing for a fight to take place in his self-proclaimed sanctuary.

Yuuri is reminded of that moment months ago where he was in a similar position, lost in his self-deprecating thoughts and weak from his lack of will. The situation was confusing and Yuuri’s demon demands the need to not be ambushed again, and luckily this time they’re both aware of their arrival.

They’re already close and briefly Yuuri wishes he had let his demon out sooner so he could have detected them when they were a safer distance away.  Even if they mean no harm, the possibility drives him into action, rolling forward, farther away from the intruders that are coming from behind him and quickly twisting his body so he’s knelt facing them, sword out and poised in the direction of their presence.

Silver and brown hair are the first most noticeable aspects of the two people in front of him, the next being a striking pair of bright blue eyes that bore into Yuuri’s, making it nearly impossible to recognize his childhood friend standing a little way behind the man that’s fully captured Yuuri’s attention, like every other time they’re so much as mentioned.

A large familiar poodle is being held back in the man’s arms, no doubt protecting the animal from Yuuri’s defensive reaction and it brings a grateful and horrified spark to course through Yuuri at the knowledge that the accidental death that he would have brought was avoided.

Victor Nikiforov’s impressed whistle that Yuuri’s display had elicited has Yuuri’s mind going haywire into confusion and shock, too many thoughts racing through his head that he can’t feel anything but the heat of his nerves making his mind shrink into an apprehensive panic.

This is so much worse than the past surprise that he felt when the Russian Yuri had knocked Yuuri’s sword out of his weak hand and declared him incompetent. At that time he had been mildly upset at the strange greeting but had accepted the words that he had been hearing for years, plus some other statement of challenge that had gone along with it, but this time is different.  Yuuri is in his home town, had left his career in a temporary standstill to figure out his future, and the last time he had seen Victor Nikiforov it had been at one of the lowest points of his life, only pushing him down further until he was deep in the black hole of unworthiness.

Yuuri doesn’t drop his sword from its elevation, too much tension keeping anything from falling, and while he is in a position of defense, his mind too far away for him to ever act if the need ever arises.

His head is so distractively numb that he almost doesn’t comprehend the words that Yuuko is suddenly saying in English.

“Victor this is Katsuki Yuuri. Yuuri, Victor.”  Yuuri faintly recognizes the way she doesn’t properly introduce Victor, no doubt taking great pleasure out of that fact. Now that Yuuri takes a momentary glance in her direction he can tell she’s a mix between uncomfortable and ecstatic, and mixed with it is the tiniest bit of protectiveness in the way her hand is firmly grasped on her sword, but other than that she is practically bouncing in place as a less than casual onlooker.

Yuuri has no idea what is happening and yet Yuuko looks as though she can barely stay in one place, a fine recreation of when she was about to tell Yuuri she was pregnant with triplets, though nothing could rival her excitement of that moment, this comes pretty close.

“Yuuri Katsuki.” Victor says, he seems to be trying it out and while it sounds similar to how he had heard Victor say towards his Russian counterpart, the “u” is more drawn out and the mere knowledge that his idol is saying his name and referring to _him_ , Yuuri feels a strange warmth pierce through his heart like a piece being placed where it belongs.  Yuuri doesn’t know if he likes it or not, but he does understand that it would take forever to ever get used to it, if he ever got the chance.

Yuuri opens his mouth, preparing to say a mild greeting that wouldn’t elicit as much as he wants to know: the admiration, the resentment that he had felt from a minor meeting, and the burning need to stand on the same level as the other, but he can’t because his throat feels as though it’s been scratched dry from how long he’s had his jaw dropped in shock.  He forces himself to close his mouth and resorts to a weak head nod to convey his lukewarm response.

A smile takes place on Victor’s face and it’s nearly all it takes for Yuuri to want to self-combust in embarrassment for this to be the way for them to “properly meet.”

The reality of his action has rational thought spring back to life; why is Victor Nikiforov in Japan, or to a more specific location, Hasetsu?  Why is he staring at Yuuri with his eyes shining in something Yuuri can’t pinpoint in his state of shock? And why is Yuuko just standing there in what Yuuri assumes is anticipation?

He desperately wants to ask for clarification, but the words are harder for him to formulate, especially in English.  Even if he is fluent in the language, opposed to translating it takes a lot more for him to piece together something with any meaning.

It doesn’t seem he’ll be able to though, as Victor opens his mouth before Yuuri can humiliate himself further.  “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Yuuri. I’m Victor Nikiforov of the Russian demon army.” Unneeded details as Yuuri already knows those pieces of information, but he would never dare interrupt someone for saying something that doesn’t need to be corrected.

The pause has Yuuri scavenging for words and he forces himself to reply, “What are you doing here?” his voice is scratchy and incredulous and it does not formulate what he would have wanted to say if he was given a second chance.

The sentence doesn’t really seem to affect Victor besides the slight straightening of his stance as if he’s just been stunned out of his reverie and with it, the shine of his eyes are almost completely covered by determination, though the initial shimmer still remains.

“Starting today I’m going to be your new coach.”  Victor says, followed by a sharp cut off syllable for the start of another sentence, like he was going to say something else, but instead had decided against it, and what he could have been about to say Yuuri couldn’t guess, shocked once more into silence.

This time, his sword really did fall from his grip.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Greetings! So, I think starting from now on the story will only be in Yuuri's POV unless the situation calls for it, does that sound okay?
> 
> Also, it might be a while till the next update. The next chapter seems to be a longer one and I haven't yet really started it as opposed to previously, also with school kicking back up and with life looking like something not so happy will take place, I can only assume that it will be a while until I get the time to post the next chapter.
> 
> I will try my best to do what I can before the storm hits but only time will tell, won't it?


	8. Deciding the Future

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where propositions are spoken and a final decision is made.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sup~

**I DO NOT OWN YURI!!! ON ICE, NOR DO I OWN OWARI NO SERAPH**   
**I HAVE NO BETA!**   
**This is also being posted on FanFiction.net!**   
**Thank you!**

 

* * *

 

The panic of meeting someone new and having them be someone he idolizes to a near painful level had driven his rational thoughts to be about as far away as Phichit was in Japan.  He wouldn’t be capable of telling specifics of what had transpired in the course of an hour, everything seeming to blur together in an indiscernible cluster. However, he would be able to tell small details: how tense the walk to the onsen was, even with Yuuko speaking next to him; how the air had gotten near suffocating when Yuuko had left for her own home; and how the introduction between Mari and Victor Nikiforov had almost made him want to self-combust, to have his ashes slip into the slits between the wooden floor and hopefully disappear from everyone’s memories.  Maybe he could have taken Kiyoshi with him, but the underlining thought that she would very likely, definitely, survive had the idea die off like his sanity.

He wouldn’t be able to clearly describe how the situation had turned into the three of them sitting around one of the dinner tables.  There is an assortment of different foods between them, things that could never really reach the mastery of their mother, but close enough that they could still imagine the almost forgotten flavor.  And while Yuuri would love to dig into the dishes that were giving off delicious aromas, he was too busy shuffling his weight as he tried to keep the adrenaline he was feeling hidden, and simultaneously trying to only speak when spoken to.

Somehow or another, Victor didn’t let the uncomfortable air around them stop him from scarfing down his portion with gusto. It should have Yuuri feeling relatively calm enough to do something similar, but instead it just made him try to move as little as possible in hopes that he wouldn’t draw the other man’s attention from praising Mari’s cooking towards him instead.

And Mari was no help at easing his anxiousness; she kept casting enough accusing glances at him to rival the amount he got from the people in town. Yuuri had made a point at staring at the wall across from him, the one behind Victor freaking Nikiforov, and when that same man would start conversation, it was the only way he could “look” at him without actually making an effort of seeing the root of his unease.

He begins to wonder if he had accidentally hit his head during training and this is all a very strange and vivid dream that has tossed him to rethink his recent decisions about his career, whether positive or negative.

Mari suddenly coughs, directing the attention towards herself and Yuuri can tell she did it on purpose, “So Victor,” Yuuri hopes the small sound from the back of his throat was imaginary, “Why are you here, really.”

She’s as relaxed as she probably will let herself be with a near stranger in the house; Yuuri feels a little better that she most likely knows who the Russian man is instead of heading in blind, but whether it’s from Yuuri himself praising him or just from civilian talk, or both, Yuuri doesn’t know and would never want to ask in case she just starts teasing him.  Of course, that humiliation wouldn’t be soon and the thought is not the best of comfort.

Victor wipes a few pieces of rice off his face as he smiles pleasantly, and it takes very little in Yuuri to take note that the natural turn of the other’s lips highlights his already handsome face. “I’m going to coach Yuuri.”

“Really?” Mari counters, suspicious and accusatory, and Yuuri almost wants to reach over to slap her mouth shut with the faint worry that Victor will take his imposing demon blade with the intent to harm, and even though the man is not known for hostility out of the rink, the possible threat that always hangs in the recesses of someone with such a weapon, like himself, is no less worrying.

“Yes, but we’re going to go back to Japan’s main base first.” Victor explains, chipper mood not to be swayed by the silent ridicule as he blatantly stares at Yuuri with soft, calculating eyes.

“Back to Shibuya?” Mari clarifies, apprehensive now and Yuuri can guess why. “You want Yuuri to go back to Shibuya, Tokyo.” It’s posed as a question, but it’s obvious anything but.

“Of course.”

Mari takes a deep breath, dark eyes becoming determined in the annoyed haze they’ve been since Victor’s entrance and Yuuri’s return.  She taps on the wooden table, like she’s preparing her words delicately, preparing them so they’re acceptable for this conversation with a stranger.

“He gets to decide whether or not he agrees with this choice of yours.” She finally says, and Yuuri doesn’t know if the feeling in his chest is the warmth of gratefulness, or the coolness of fright.

Her statement elicits Victor to tilt his head in an unspoken question, probably not comprehending what Yuuri would have to think over, but whatever his thoughts bring soon makes him nod his head understandingly. “Okay.”

The lack of a question as to why Victor has to wait for Yuuri’s answer seems to relax Mari just the smallest bit, most likely finally at peace knowing that Yuuri has a chance for a decision instead of just rushing in on someone else’s whim, and Yuuri finally identifies the feeling in his chest as gratefulness; that she is still protecting him even though she doesn’t know his full reason for coming back, and that somehow she still knows regardless.

Silently, Yuuri pours Mari some more sake, hoping the act gives her the sense of his gratitude, and the ruffle of his hair is enough of a response that he’ll accept, even though it’s unnecessary and causes him to sputter and fix his hair quickly.

The reality that his idol most definitely just saw that has self-consciousness freeze his lungs and his movements gradually slow down only for him to be sitting rigidly once more.

“Yuuri.”  Victor says, his hand petting Makkachin absently, but all his attention seems to be honed in on the other man across from him.

“Yes.” It comes as second nature for Yuuri to reply, as years of doing just that out of demand have taught him as such, and he’s glad his voice is as steady as it was in front of the military generals and colonels.

Victor’s blue eyes pierce into him and Yuuri has to briefly wonder if he could continue staring into them without drawing too much attention.

“I’d love for you to show me around the town, okay?”  Victor says, not at all hiding his excitement, and easily winks with a bright smile. It’s impossible to stop the rush of blood from dusting Yuuri’s cheeks an embarrassing shade of pink from having that expression suddenly looking at him.

“Okay.”

 

* * *

 

It’s been a while since the town has been calm enough that Yuuri could sit by the ocean side.  The water’s not what it used to be, but it’s still there, crashing, creating waves and pulling sand in with the undertow— just more deadly.

Most of the ability of free time is probably, most definitely, Victor’s doing. Ever since the man has arrived he’s started helping with the small threats and sometimes even helps people with menial tasks, ones that used to keep Yuuri occupied for hours. It’s really hard to accuse someone of malicious intent when they act so friendly with strangers that could easily be shutting them out, which is just another reason for Yuuri to be even more confused about his decision.

It’s been a while since Kiyoshi has been so adamant on being detrimental, constantly telling him words he would never want repeated, and they do it all so shamelessly, not holding back every ounce of deprecation they know can wound him deeply.

They point out the most menial things that it’s almost impossible to do anything without doubting himself, he doesn’t want to imagine how the taunting would worsen under Victor’s tutelage; every interaction weighed down by the voice in his head, and what’s even more disastrous is that Kiyoshi is just heightening his own doubts and feel of unworthiness. But they are also pushing him onwards to the call of “real” battle: outside the walls. To be free to roam and come unhinged with bloodlust and the sadistic pleasure of causing pain to everyone around him, and Victor could be one of those who he might betray.

He doesn’t want that, but he also doesn’t want to sit idly while the world around him continues in chaos and despair; to just wait until the next Horseman of the Apocalypse comes onto the street and spending his days helping people that look at him as though he’s the source of their problems.

There’s a sudden wet and rough streak up his cheek and Yuuri is pulled out of his staring contest with the polluted, purple ocean only to be face to face with a familiar face that he’s seen for years, but it was younger, smaller and called by another title.

Makkachin looks at him in understanding excitement, and it’s a wonder how Yuuri can feel a sense of relief just by one look, one soft gaze that instantly comes closer as the poodle lies in front of him and suddenly their face is looking up from its position rested on Yuuri’s knees.

Yuuri’s missed this.  The calm of not having to say a word and be next to a being that knows he is being troubled without actually knowing why, but staying nonetheless.  To not ask questions with pity and prying instincts.  To just be.

It’s pure instinct that drives him to gently scratch behind the pup’s ear, and the way they lean into the touch is a pleasant distraction from the onslaught that always lies awake inside him.

What would Yuuri do if suddenly he did go back to Shibuya?

Would he continue to be standoffish behind his wall of defense? It’s been there for such a long time, and every other relationship that’s followed the virus has taken so long to develop, that to just uproot everything to follow someone he barely knows anything about, besides what they let out to the public, is against every self-preservation instinct that screams in his head.

He’s lost in a storm of people that seem like they can survive the way things are, but he doesn’t even know if he wants to continue being in that storm. He knows the best thing for his career, and his life in an extension, would be to go back to Shibuya with Victor to lead him, and that’s what his heart is telling him to do, but he knows that’s just another step closer to possibly loosing himself.

And what about Victor? Did he just up and leave his career only to come to Japan? It doesn’t make sense, but Yuuri doesn’t have the guts to question the other man’s decision when he can’t even make his own.

Someone sitting next to him is almost uncomfortable, but Yuuri knew they were there from the vague presence being told through his demon weapon, and wherever Makkachin goes Victor will always be close behind.  Victor had left space between them and for that Yuuri is thankful, because if he felt he had to move himself further away, he would feel too terrible to give himself that necessary space.

The three of them sit in a near calm silence, only disrupted by the rush of deadly purple water on the sand, a nice distance away from their area, and for once in a long while, Yuuri is almost happy that he gets to share a quiet moment with someone where there isn’t screaming around them, a moment that he doesn’t feel like breaking, but knows will at some time, always end.

It’s a spur of the moment thought, an idea that’s been flashing restlessly in Yuuri’s head for days. Something he wants to desperately hold on to for a little while longer, which might be the reason for him suddenly getting up from is sitting position only to be on his knees, fists resting firmly in front of him, body facing Victor with his head down, and speaking the thought out loud for someone else to hear—saying it instead of seeing it through long looks of reluctant understanding from his sister and gentle pats on the back from Yuuko and Takeshi— “I want an hour of training alone, every day.”

There’s a short moment of hesitation before, “Okay.”

“That is all I ask for.” Yuuri feels a weight lifting slightly from his chest and his shoulders, and finally the real, true words he’s been wanting to say, to shout even, but only in his wildest dreams that he never let himself fully accept, escape him in too little of words, “Please be my coach, Victor.”

There’s a rush of an exhale from before him, and with great will, Yuuri looks up right before Victor starts to softly chuckle, like he’s relieved and has been waiting for far longer than a few days, and when those bright yet dark with understanding eyes meet his, Yuuri suddenly feels vulnerable under their intensity, and the feeling isn’t at all what he would want to run away from.

“I’ll do my best.”

It’s a better response than what he was expecting, maybe a few words to finally state that it was a joke, but instead they’re spoken with such certainty that Yuuri is nearly stunned.  “Yoroshiku onegaishimasu,” he nearly whispers, and it takes a moment for Yuuri to realize he’s said it before his brain could stop him. Victor looks vaguely confused but smiles nonetheless, and suddenly Victor extends his hand and they’re shaking on an unspoken, yet agreed upon, statement.

**Author's Note:**

> Constructive criticism is welcome.  
> Thank you for all your time and I hope you've been enjoying the story so far.  
> I'd love to hear feedback!
> 
> ~ Revised version: "Submerged"


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